


A Transition

by The_Female_Gaymer



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Canon, Drunken Confessions, Established Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Pansexual Michael, Rain, Scars, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Trevor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Female_Gaymer/pseuds/The_Female_Gaymer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a night of drunken celebration for no other reason than to just celebrate, Trevor indulges in Michael a secret he'd kept well hidden for over twenty years.</p><p>Only positive reviews/criticism will be accepted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Transition

**Author's Note:**

> This work ignores any physical canon references to Trevor's genitals-- scenes without a shirt or pants didn't happen the way they are depicted in game, but if he's just talking about fucking someone, that remains canon in this fic. This is really just me satisfying a personal need for trans!Trevor. I am well aware that canon Trevor is as male as it gets, but honestly? We all avoid canon when we write Trikey in the first place, so why not go all out?
> 
> On top of that, keep in mind that this is just a fictional work of a fictional character. I'm not asking you to think this is canon, and I'm not forcing you to accept this sort of idea. What I am asking is that you don't be an asshole about this. It's just fiction. And before you get all antsy about this, know that I got the input of a trans man on this, who will remain anonymous unless they state otherwise.

"I... I've got a, a, a confession to make," Trevor slurred out, gripping his beer bottle rather tightly. Glazed eyes wandered in Michael's general direction, though he couldn't focus on him even if he tried.

Michael was far less hammered; he was drunk, but still sober enough that the room wasn't wildly spinning, only rising and falling like a ship on a calm ocean. They'd been reminiscing about heists of days past in the particularly loud bar, laughing around bottles and bottles of booze, until a comfortable silence had settled over them. Now, Trevor suddenly speaking back up caught Michael off guard, and he gave him a confused glare, having been enjoying the warm buzz of drunkenness. 

"What was that?"

"I've got a--" he muttered incoherently around a belch, before clarifying himself again. "-- a confession to, to make. Ya hear?" 

Michael wasn't certain what to make of this-- Trevor had confessed many a thing in this sort of condition in the past. Whether the inebriation stemmed from alcohol or drugs, however-- that varied from time to time. Moments like these, where Trevor opened up a more vulnerable side to himself, could end multiple ways, and Michael found himself wary of what Trevor might say next. He sighed, bracing himself for anything, and leaned back in his seat. "Alright then. What does the mysterious Trevor Philips have to say to me on this particular bout of drunken stupor?" 

Trevor sat up straighter, looking as serious as any drunk man could. Before he spoke what was on his mind, he took a large swig of his bottle, before slamming it down. Around the sound, he said to Michael:

"I'm trans."

Michael blinked, wondering if the rest of what Trevor said had been lost in the music, or if he'd trailed off. "What was that?"

The Canadian rolled his eyes, gesturing to himself with exaggerated movements. 

"I am transgund-- transgender, M-Mikey. I was b-born a, born a woman, alright?" He took another quick sip of his beer. "I had breasts. Soft, firm breasts, the kind you, you, you just wanna _squeeze_  until they _pop_ , like that, you know what I'm sayin'?" He gave a perverted little laugh, making squeezing motions with his hands. "But, you know, had 'em cut out when I started doin' shit with you and had enough money for the, the surgery. No more binding! That was a fuckin' fabulous--" Trevor cut himself off with a groan, clutching his stomach as he tried to prevent himself from vomiting all over the bar floor.  

All the while, Michael sat in his seat, stunned and afraid to comment or say much of anything. Of all the things Trevor had told him in the past, this had to have been the most out of character thing he'd ever heard. Trevor? Transgender? It seemed highly implausible. He wondered, vaguely, if maybe Trevor was fooling with him somehow, even in his smashed state. It wasn't unlike him to fuck around with him-- Trevor always had some crazy insane story about his childhood to tell, and quite frankly, Michael sometimes found himself wondering if even half of them were true. But transgender? That was a new one. Was he lying this time? He was shaken from his musings as Trevor continued to speak.  

"I kind-- kind of just, just _knew_  when puberty started, you know? I didn't want to be a girl. I didn't want to have a period, or have breasts, or be a good little housewife and have some fucking asshole's demon spawn child. It didn't feel right to me. It didn't feel like me. I was the tomboy, the one that ran around barefoot in the mud with the other boys, grew up acting like a boy. I was a boy. And as soon as I started my period, I just sat there sort of thinking, 'shit, I gotta-- I gotta stop this, or everything's going to change.' So I got the pills, you know? The fuckin' testosterone pills, cut off my hair, started binding down my tits, and I started callin' myself Trevor. It wasn't supposed to be my name-- too much like my original, Trisha. A temporary thing. But it just... It just kind of, like, stuck, right? I just never ended up changin' it. Trevor was, it was too special to me now. I _was_  Trevor. Trevor was me." 

Michael just nodded, bringing his bottle up to his lips for a long sip. Trevor was absolutely wrecked-- there was a chance he didn't even know what he was saying, and an even more likely chance that even if he did, he wouldn't remember it in the morning. That's what Michael decided to go along with in his head as he spoke to Trevor.  

"Trans, huh?" Michael drew out, looking thoughtful. "I had no clue."

"Welp," Trevor snickered, swaying, "that's the point. Most people don't want you to know. Too scared of how their friends or family might re--react. Some bad coming-out stories out there." He gave an involuntary shiver as he thought about it, and his glassy eyes grew dark and brooding. "I was lucky. Well, luckier. Guess having a stripper for a mother has its perks after all."

Michael nodded along with him again, setting down his beer. This was getting interesting, and besides, one of them had to be sober enough to drive them back home in one piece. 

"And what made you think to tell this to me now? After all these years?"

Trevor furrowed his brow as he thought about it, albeit sluggishly. "Well, I mean, look at us. Best buddies, nearly on the v-verge of fuckin' fucking each other, and I thought, you know, 'Maybe I should tell this asshole the truth before he pulls down my pants and finds out for himself.'"

Michael frowned at that; it was true, they _had_  been hurtling towards maybe tumbling into bed together soon, at long last. He'd started this sort of "friends with benefits" thing in retaliation of all the men Amanda preferred over Michael, and it'd ended up actually becoming a serious side relationship. It'd started as a simple need for human affection, and had developed into something more. Only now, it was the first time he'd even thought that Trevor might not be the "man" he thought he was. Still a man, just not in the way he was thinking. The fact that he could have found out the hard way that Trevor wasn't physically who he thought he was made him feel a little bit uneasy-- that definitely would have been a surprise. But then again, Trevor could still be lying, playing one of his sick tricks without even realizing it himself. Maybe he wasn't trans and just thought it'd be funny to mess with Michael before telling him, "Hey, April Fools!"

In August. Right. 

Trevor leaned against him suddenly, burrowing his nose into the expensive jacket material and sighing in contentment at the smell of his partner. "I could show you my Mastectomy scars. Just, you know, lift up my shirt and just, woof! There it is!" He gave a drunk little laugh and a loud belch.

Michael tensed. Now was not the time and place, even if he was being serious. He needed to get Trevor out of there, and probably get himself away from Trevor, too, if he was being honest with himself. "Okay," Michael sighed, standing up. "I think it's time to get you home, T."

Trevor's grin turned into a pout, and he clung to Michael's jacket. "But we just got here, Mikey, come on..."

Michael shook his head as he pulled a very drunk Trevor to his feet. "Nope, I am taking your hammered ass back to Sandy Shores. Come on, move your feet, Philips."

Trevor threw his head back and whined as he was dragged out the door.

 

* * *

 

About three days later, Michael pulled into Trevor's driveway, after being invited over for some more booze, and maybe a round of hunting, if the weather held the way it was. However, it looked as though dark clouds were looming over the horizon, and potentially heading their way, if the direction of the harsh wind was any indication. It would most likely be a day spent pent up inside the hot stuffy trailer unless they could come up with something else to do. Something, of course, that obviously didn't involve sex. Because for whatever reason, Trevor never wanted to have sex with Michael.

That, of course, begged the question: what was Michael supposed to say to Trevor about him being _supposedly_ transgender?

He'd turned the question over and over in his mind the entire ride to Sandy Shores. How could he approach the subject? Did Trevor even know what he'd said? Not a word had been spoken about it between the two of them since the night they went out, so Michael assumed that either Trevor had no clue, or remembered perfectly well, and was avoiding the subject in the hopes that Michael would too, or maybe even forget about the entire incident. 

But Michael remembered. He found himself slightly irritated that he hadn't known or been informed of it sooner, before he remembered Trevor's perturbed expression when mentioning some "coming out" horror stories. God forbid it, was he afraid that Michael would stop wanting to be his friend? His lover? How could he have not seen it? Perhaps he should have realized something of his own accord. Trevor always did act slightly peculiar whenever they got frisky in the past-- redirecting wandering hands, never allowing himself to be seen without a shirt, and always saying he wasn't in the mood to be touched. It'd been blatantly obvious, and Michael had just chocked it up to be just another one of Trevor's little quirks. 

Now that he thought about it, he felt selfish and stupid. It was time to make things right, and confront Trevor about it, and to tell him what exactly he thought of the matter. He flicked off the car, pocketed the keys, and made his way to the door of the trailer just as he always had.

Michael walked into the trailer as if he owned the crummy home. There really was no need to knock; Trevor had been expecting him, so if he wasn't decent or ready, then that was his fault. Luckily, it seemed that Trevor had been waiting for him in comfort; the Canadian lay sprawled out on the couch, legs spread wide in baggy cargo pants, and he gave Michael a sideways smirk and a salute.

"There you are," he said condescendingly as he sat up. "Didn't you hear the radio? Looks like rain. Methinks our hunting plans are canceled, so we have an afternoon to kill instead of bucks now. Come, sit, we gotta brainstorm something else to do." He patted the spot on the couch next to him with a closed fist.

"Right," Michael replied, steeling his nerves for the potential conversation they were going to have. "About that." The man worked up a slightly suggestive grin and leaned against the kitchen counter as he stared Trevor down. "I was thinking maybe, maybe, it's finally time we do something that gets us both off. A rainy afternoon with nothing to do? Perfect opportunity to fuck, right? And there's just something about the smell of rain that just..." Michael smiled and closed his eyes, making the "okay" sign with his hands. "Just really sets it for me."

He studied Trevor's face more intently than he had in he past. As he'd expected, Trevor's smile turned upside down, but now that he was actually looking for it, he also caught a trace of disappointment, perhaps even fear. Trevor made a chuffing sound, and redirected his attention back to the TV. 

"Not in the mood," he said curtly in Michael's general direction. "Next idea."

"Bullshit," Michael exclaimed, ignoring Trevor's surprised glare, "you're always in the mood. Just never with me, right? Just like my fucking marriage with Amanda, she wants every dick but mine. You want every dick but mine. Why is that, Philips?"

"It's not like that, you fucking asshole!" he exclaimed, growing quickly defensive as he shot to his feet. "Jesus, I invite you in to my home and the first fucking thing you want is to fuck, and when I tell you no, you lose your shit?! What the fuck?! I don't care what your dick is feeling, I ain't fuckin' unless I'm in the mood!" 

"Oh yeah? Well I don't care if--" Michael shut his mouth and took a deep breath to lower his voice. It was too easy to get volatile with Trevor. He needed to cool his temper if he wanted to gain any traction with this conversation. "Trevor, I'm only gonna ask this once; why won't you let me touch you? Why can't we get past the first layer of clothes every time were together? What is it about me that's so apparently unfuckable to you?"

Trevor came to stand at the other end of the counter, across from Michael. His shoulders were hunched and tense, and for the first time, Michael noticed how very subtly softer they were than an average man's broad shoulders. It was almost undetectable, but he was in a sort of search mode right now-- a game of "Spot the difference."

"We have something special, Michael," he said very slowly and carefully. He seemed to be picking and choosing his words out of so much he wanted to say, but for whatever reason, felt he could not. "Something I haven't had with other people I've been emotionally invested in. I'm trying to preserve the mental intimacy for as long as I can before the physical intimacy spoils us and ruins it. You of all people should know how it is."

"It won't ruin it," Michael assured him.

Trevor smacked his palms on the counter in frustration, at the same time as a flash of lightning from the looming storm clouds outside. "You don't understand, Michael!"

"Oh yeah?" he questioned. "But what if I do?"

"You don't," Trevor growled. The thunder from the previous lightning strike finally reached them, rumbling through the ground beneath their feet.

Michael decided to come clean to Trevor, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Friday night, when we went to that bar together? And you were totally smashed? You remember that, right? You told me something. I don't think you remember that. You told me something big." 

He could feel Trevor tense, even though he wasn't in physical contact with the man. "I tell you a lot of shit I shouldn't when I'm drunk-- some of it true, some of it not. So what this time, in particular, did I say that's worth bringing up again?" 

The older man gives Trevor a solemn look so that he's aware he's being 100% serious with him.

"You turn to me after saying you got a confession to make, you look me dead in the eye, and you say to me, 'Michael, I'm transgender.'"

As he'd suspected he would, Trevor's eyes go wide with shock, and he takes a step back, clearly startled. His suspicions that Trevor could have been lying to him vanish when he doesn't counter immediately with a smart ass response. Instead, he sounds hoarse. Afraid. 

"Bullshit."

"You really think I'd make something like this up?" Michael asks him softly. 

Trevor looks like a badly startled animal, frozen in place and uncertain what to do to defend himself. Michael leans forward towards Trevor, lowering his voice. 

"Is it true?"

He can tell Trevor wants to say no. He expected him to say yes. Instead, he looks at Michael's hands on the counter and mutters, "I was always a boy, Michael. I just... didn't always have the body of one."

Michael sighs, thinking that the climax of the situation had passed.

"So it's true then?" 

"Yes," he barks suddenly, and another flash of lightning blinds them briefly just as the rain begins drizzling from the sky, "it's fucking true. I'm a tranny. A female to male transition, alright? Now you fucking know." His shoulders shook as he seemed to be struggling for breath. "What do you think of that?" 

Michael shrugged softly, standing up straight. 

"Kind of hurt you didn't tell me sooner, honestly. Besides that, I don't really care."

All at once, Trevor stopped breathing, and stopped shaking, and the thunder shook him, blinking rapidly as he processed Michael's words. "You don't care?" 

Michael quickly clarified. "We'll, by that, I mean it doesn't bother me. I do care-- care that I know and understand what this means and how this might change things between us, but in a positive/negative aspect? I don't care. I mean, you're still Trevor, right? I've always known you as Trevor, not Trisha. This don't change my perception of you, it just changes what I know about you. I mean, personally? I don't get the whole 'stuck in the wrong body at birth' mindset, but I ain't gonna ride your ass about it. If you're happier this way, then fine. It don't hurt me, so why should I care?" 

He watched various emotions flicker across Trevor's face. Mostly relief, but also a concerned curiosity. 

"What else did I tell you?" he asked curiously.  

"That you still had breasts when you met me and you were binding to hide it," Michael informed him, "and that you got them removed with heist money later on. How you started on stolen or bought testosterone pills as soon as your first period rolled around, and how you were nervous 'bout telling me all this because of bad experiences in the past. That's all." 

"That's all?" Trevor walked back to the counter and used it to support himself, feeling rather lightheaded. "This all seriously doesn't freak you out?" 

"Well," Michael replied, "you've finished your transition, right?"

The cringe he saw on Trevor's face almost hurt his own, and he realized his error. He quickly tried to apologize, but was cut off by Trevor roughly shushing him. The man gave a moment to think about his words, and then spoke to Michael over the now persistent sound of raindrops on the metal roof of the trailer. 

"If by 'finished,' you mean that I have changed myself to _my_  personal level of comfort, then yes. If by 'finished,' you mean that I not only no longer have breasts, but now also have a penis, then... then, no. I have not finished. And I never will." 

Michael's brow furrowed in confusion. "Well, wait a minute, you're saying you still have a... a, a vagina?" 

"Yep," the other man confirmed after a nervous pause. "I had a hysterectomy though. No more uterus, no more Fallopian tubes, nothing. It's just the birth canal now. You know, the fucking part." He gave a nervous laugh and scratched at the base of his neck.  

The other man seemed bemused at this new information. "Well," Michael stuttered, "I mean, I would think that-- from what I know of you as a person, I would have assumed that--" 

"That I'd want to make the full change?" Trevor shook his head, growing more comfortable with discussing the subject matter, and turning around to grab two beers from the table at the far end of the room.

"Too expensive. I know I have all the money I'd ever need now because of the Union Depository heist, but its more that a money issue. It's still not effective for a woman to make the full change. Advances in medical technology haven't come far enough to gift us with a realistic, functional dick a majority of the time. You either get something that looks good but doesn't give enough pleasure, or something that feels just the way you want it, but doesn't look right. I didn't want to take the risk of being unsatisfied with the results. Besides, it's not penis envy I suffered from-- it was the fact that I didn't feel right if I couldn't keep my masculinity as I entered my teenage years. I was suddenly expected to act like a lady, all prim and proper, and that wasn't me. That wasn't who I was in my heart. I grew up playing with zombie toys, Impotent Rage, that one space army dude-- I can never remember his fucking name. I wasn't supposed to be slim and fair, or eye candy. I was supposed to be the one sweeping in to save or fuck the damsel in distress, the one on top, the lone rider that could travel the world without being asked, 'so where's the boyfriend?'. I knew that I was a man, I just didn't look like one, or have the right parts." 

Trevor turned around, and placed a bottle on the counter in front of Michael. "It wouldn't be enough to go against the patriarchy-- I'd be ridiculed, still treated like a woman, maybe even be put in dangerous situations. In this world, if you want to be seen as something you're not, you got to look the part, or people don't take you seriously. I could have stayed looking like a woman and had been fine if only people would treat me as the gender I identify as, but that wouldn't have happened. I needed not only a mental change of attitude and behavior, but a physical one as well. People don't need to know what's in my pants to see that I am clearly a man now. All they need to see is the facial hair, the rugged features, the lack of breasts. All they need is to hear my voice, feel my rough hands, and they decide for themselves that I'm a man. Really, at the end of the day, that's all I want. I don't need to make the full change to be satisfied; some people aren't like that, but that's not the point here. The point is that the world takes one look at me, and says I'm a man. That's all I need to know that I've come as far as I need to, not only for them, but for myself." 

He stared at Michael as the other man thought about his words and reasoning, and added a final statement. "Now, at this moment, there is one last person whose opinion on the matter is important to me. What do you think, Michael? Am I a man to you?" 

Michael glanced up from his quiet, personal musings at Trevor. There was a long enough period of silence that, along with the now pouring rain, another flash of lightning and rumble of thunder filled it. "I... You are-- I've always known you as a man, Trevor. I never once considered you weren't. Not even now. If you were to pull down your pants and parade around the house naked, I would still see you and think, 'hey, there he goes,' not 'hey, there _she_ goes.' So in other words, yeah. But I do have one question though-- when you talk about all these girls you've fucked, were you serious? Or were you making it up?" 

Trevor snorted and rolled his eyes. "Lord, I forgot how sexually repressed you were. You've clearly forgotten about the miraculous invention of the strap-on, and sex between two people does not always require the puzzle pieces to fit every time."

Michael blushed a little, picking up his beer but not drinking from it. "Alright, fair enough. And the dresses?" 

"That is two questions, Michael, but I will let it slide. Look, I just look damn good in a dress, Mikey, ain't got nothing to do with my gender or sexuality." 

"Can't argue with that either." 

Relieved, Trevor sighed and sagged with his back to the counter and Michael, swirling the remaining alcohol in his bottle absentmindedly. A comfortable silence filled the room, before another clash of thunder disrupted it again. Michael spoke up quietly, nervously. 

"Can I... could I maybe see your Mastectomy scars?"

"You wanna see 'em?" Trevor asked. 

"I do."

Trevor turned around to face Michael, expression unreadable. Without any words spoken, he criss-crossed his arms over his head, tugging the shirt off of his shoulders and onto the dirty floor. Michael's eyes widened.

The round scars just under Trevor's pectorals were light, but long and wide, and parts were almost shiny in the dark afternoon light. Other than that, Trevor was mostly intact. He still had his nipples, and the skin around his chest looked normal, without any unusual bunching of skin or otherwise. There was a "FUCK COPS" tattoo splayed across his chest under the scars Michael had never seen before, and another scar on the left side of his abdomen, clearly not gained through surgical means. 

"Hey," Michael said to him sincerely, "that looks pretty good."

Trevor rolled his eyes and looked away from Michael, though his heart secretly fluttered at the compliment. 

"Is this where you went all those times you were gone for weeks and months on end?" Michael questioned. He reached forward to touch, before stopping himself. He looked at Trevor, who jutted out his chest and nodded his approval. Michael closed the distance, tracing the scars with curious hands. "To get reconstruction surgery? You never did tell any of us where you were off to." 

Trevor sighed, loving the feeling of Michael's hands on his skin, soft and warm. "Yeah," he confirmed after a moment. "Went and had surgery, and recovered on my own in some hotel somewhere alone."

"That must have really sucked," Michael murmured. 

"A necessary torture," he replied dismissively. "Making money with you and Brad helped. So long as I could pay, the managers let me stay. I got used to it." 

Michael wasn't sure what to say in response to that. He couldn't lie to him and tell Trevor that he could have told him the truth, because back in their Yankton days, he was a different person. That's something he wouldn't have accepted like he did now. If he had known Trevor was transgender back in the day, he might have even kicked him out of the group. He was very much in a different mindset now, though. Los Santos diversity had somewhat forced him to accept the fact that people thought differently about this sort of thing now, and he did his best to catch up with them. He felt he did pretty good. He still slipped up here and there, but for the most part felt he was with the times about this sort of topic. 

Michael finally managed to peel his fingers away from Trevor's mastectomy scars. 

"Bet this changes how badly you want to fuck me, huh?" Trevor asked a bit bitterly. 

"Nope." 

If Trevor had been drinking at that exact moment, he would have spat out whatever was in his mouth. "What was that?" 

Michael's face screwed up like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. "What, do you seriously think I based our relationship on what package you're carrying around? I have a wife, Trevor, and then I have you too. I know my way around a vagina, dumbass. I didn't get with you because of the physical attraction; yeah, it's got something to do with it, but its not the whole reason. We got history, T; I'm with you because of all the shit we been through. You know, though, in a fucked up sort of way, I'm kind of glad you don't have a dick-- I'm definitely better with wome-- with people with vaginas. So, uh, maybe it'll be better for the both of us, in the long run." 

"I think Amanda would like to argue with you on that," he chortled. "Better with pussy than cock? What, don't handle your own packaging and processing enough?" 

Michael frowned at the distasteful joke, before his fingers tightened on the edge of the counter as he leaned forward.  

"Why don't you find out for yourself what I'm capable of, huh? Why don't you head into the bedroom so I can eat out your tight pussy like a fucking king and show you how wrong you are?" 

Trevor was hit by a strong pang of arousal at the strongly-worded suggestion, and also a twinge of skepticism. He'd just come out to Michael, and the man was already wanting to jump his bones. Well, _still_  wanting to jump his bones. Not that he was complaining, by any means; it just didn't seem like Michael to him. And to anyone else, that statement might have come across as offensive, but Trevor had no problem with his parts. 

When Trevor took too log to reply, Michael suddenly turned timid. "Shit, was that-- was that took much? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no," Trevor assured him quickly. "I mean, it's fine with me, at least. But you gotta keep in mind, some of us ain't proud of the parts we got. I don't mind mine, but-- ah, forget it, I'll teach you later. No, I was just thinkin', it's a little bit soon after the confession, don't you think?" He expressed his concern openly, though he tried to downplay his hesitation. "I mean, you just barely found out that I'm... only half a man." 

Michael put on a patient, yet confident expression, relieved to know that he hadn't erred too badly. "I really couldn't care less, T. I think you're a man. You definitely look the part, but its not just that. Look, T, my kids taught me a little about this. Mostly Tracey, but still. The point is, if you say you're a man, then you're a man. It's as simple as that. If you say you're half a man, then you're that, too. You're whatever you want to be, within reason, of course. I won't lend you my support if you want to be a fucking attack helicopter or a unicorn; that's unrealistic. But I'll defend to my dying breath your right to be a man." 

Trevor snorted, tossing his half-empty beer bottle somewhere behind him. "To the death? No, no you wouldn't." 

Michael looked like he wanted to protest, before his expression slowly melded into agreement. "Okay, maybe not to the death, but it is your fucking right, Trevor; I mean it when I say I will defend it. Just do whatever makes you happy. You already do for the most part, you've got no fuckin' boundaries, but this is different. Don't let other assholes determine how you see yourself." 

"Oh, you're so very inspirational," Trevor taunted, rolling his eyes. "I've seen you pull this kind of shit before. You're trying to sweet-talk down my defenses so I'll spread my legs willingly for you, I know you, Townley. You only mean about half of the crap you're spewing from that hole of yours." 

"Is that what you think?" he questioned, walking around the counter looking peeved. Trevor followed him, until they were face-to-face. Trevor just always had a way of getting him riled up, and it infuriated him. "You think that I'm such a perverted bastard, I'll fuck anything that even remotely resembles a female in reproductive structure? Where the fuck have you been the last thirty years? Have you not looked in a mirror at all? Jesus, I'm trying to be supportive of you here, but you're just throwing it back in my face."

"You're too easily aggravated, Mikey," Trevor taunted as he snickered. "You make it fun to shit-talk to you like this. It's funny seeing you get worked up." 

Trevor thought to himself for a moment longer, before deciding to take the plunge. "And besides, I don't want your pep-talk, you dumb shit, I actually just want you to take the initiative and fuck me already! I thought you--"

Michael's tone of voice grew as he spun Trevor around, until the other man was pinned against the counter with Michael's arms around him. "You were just saying I was being too hasty!" he accused. 

"I was playing hard to get, you dumb shit! So why don't you take those big words you were talking earlier and show me who's king!? I thought you had a more aggressive side than that, but you're a fucking soft lard-ass now!"

Trevor found himself being yanked up by the front of his shirt, the fabric creaking in protest at having to support his weight. He grinned against Michael's mouth, now so close that their lips were touching.  

"Oh yeah?" Michael assured him. "I'll show you who's king. By the end of the afternoon, you'll be kneeling right where you belong-- right in front of me." 

Trevor inhaled sharply. He'd been dirty talked before, and there were people that were way better at it that Michael was. But the fact that it was him, giving that low, delicious promise right against his lips, made it all the sweeter, and all the more arousing. Before he could say anything else, Michael captured his lips in a searing kiss, stealing the breath from his lungs. He closed his eyes, weakly placing his hands against Michael's chest, and bunching the undoubtedly pricey fabric in his fists. 

It certainly wasn't the way Michael had imagined this happening-- in all honesty, he thought this whole scenario would have played out with them both getting too drunk to speak coherent sentences and fucking behind some back alley, taking Trevor's cock into his throat and giving him the best head of his life, or vice-versa. No, this is not what he had planned at all. 

God, but was it nice to just finally be able to hold Trevor against his body like this. In the end, it didn't matter what Trevor was or wasn't, what he said he was or wasn't. What mattered was that he could finally hold him the way he wanted to, love him properly, because besides for his job, Trevor was the only constant he knew he had. Trevor was the only constant he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder that only positive feedback will be accepted. Anything deemed inappropriate or not constructive will not be tolerated and WILL be deleted.
> 
> Tumblr: the-female-gaymer.tumblr.com


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